When Ginny met Harry
by racketeer
Summary: A sweet little one-shot of that fateful morning when Ginny saw Harry at the burrow for the first time. From the perception of the eleven year-old girl she is, this tale reaccounts that morning as it happened for Ginny.


When Ginny and Harry first met

I woke up earlier than usual that morning, which I think in itself is a sign. It was practically the crack of dawn; six o'clock no less! Usually I enjoy staying in bed all morning; it is a goal of mine not to see the hour of ten am. However I think that when my mother was pregnant, she decided there and then that she would do her best to deprive me of my life goals. Firstly it was her disapproval of my desire to become a professional Quidditch player. Apparently it's 'inappropriate'. I'll show her. My future career choice is a step up from my previous desire. I wanted to be the fourth member of the Weird Sister's. However that stage was short lived as my lovely brothers pointed out to me that I couldn't sing for cauldron cakes. So I'm going a little off subject. The deal is, my mum generally decides way too early that enough is enough with my supposed 'laziness', and resolves to awakening me by force. That woman has a very varied collection of hexes, I'm telling you. Take it from someone with experience of them.

However looking back, I think that it must have been the bright and easy summer sun which properly woke me at that formidable hour; sneaking through my translucent amber curtains, dancing and driving around the shoebox which was otherwise known as my bedroom.

All the nice weather in England tends to come in the spring, hitting seventy degrees farenheight for a couple of months before the predictable bleak summer settles in. Knowing that the gorgeous weather was a novelty, it was effectively much better than mum's method's to wake me up. The inviting cosy warmth of the strong beams make me eager not to waste another second of it, whereas mum's tedious voice makes me feel much more at an allegiance with my bed.

I couldn't say the same for the previous night though, for it seemed my bed and I were deadly enemies. I was unable to find a cool, comfortable spot of which I could let sleep take over, and instead I had spent much of the early hours of the morning tossing and turning, writhing and wriggling, at one point even resorting to punching the poor feathers out of my unfortunate pillow, in an attempt to make it more puffy and comfortable. However I suspect that any spectators would have merely reported that I was intent on having a wrestling match with the inanimate object. On top of my restless struggles, I swear to Merlin the stairs were creaking loudly at various stages during the night, and I'm sure I heard muffled voices around the same time as well.

I resolved that it must have been from lack of sleep. Creaking staircases aren't exactly a new thing in my house though, it's falling apart as it is.

So my restless night added to the invading sun beams were later to be my explanation to an angry set of red-headed twins as to why I had even been up early enough to notice their absence and then go on to indirectly inform our dearest mother. Notice my sarcasm.

You see, I was attempting in vain to flatten my hair, which resolved me to looking at my reflection in the window my mirror got smashed last time I got angry (I really need to learn to control my magic before I go to Hogwarts). Giving it up as a futile attempt, I lowered my gaze to the garden, where I was thinking longingly of how I could eat my Cheery Owls breakfast cereal with my toes dipped into the cool rippling garden pond before the boys would wake up, where they would undoubtedly traipse down to the Quidditch clearing, and however reluctantly, they **would **agree to let me play the game with them. It was annoying how I always got put as seeker, but I couldn't really argue the point as I knew they would inevitably just not let me play at all. I hate being the youngest; the pathetic only girl. Maybe if I could persuade dad to play then he'd cover seeker and I'd have the chance at my favourite position; Chaser. But dad would probably be too 'busy' with work or that silly blue car of his.

It was then in my ponderings that I first noticed it, where was that battered old blue Ford Anglia? Had Dad taken it out? Was he that eager to test it out that he was willing to face mum's wrath? He never used the car, or at least not when it was likely mum would notice it was missing, for obvious reasons he didn't particularly enjoy getting in the midst of her temper, and wisely went to any measures so as to avoid it. Or had we been robbed perhaps? That was quite unlikely though, as it was quite well known that us Weasley's e didn't have many items worthy of stealing, and who would steal our battered old car when they had their pick of muggle transport just across the hill in the muggle suburb?

Not wanting to cause a commotion (a feat that was fairly easy to do in a family of this size) I pulled on my tatty slippers, and headed downstairs, to find mum sitting at the large oaken table, gazing contently into space, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, and judging by the lack of steam rising from the mug, it looked as though she had been in that position for quite a while.

"Hey, mum?" I asked tentatively, as I quietly entered the oblong room.

Apparently I wasn't quite tentative enough though, for mother jumped so hard that she knocked over her mug and the brown liquid contents poured out and spread itself over the wooden surface of the big dining table.

"Oh, drat! Terigo!" she muttered, lack of sleep evident in her voice. "Good morning, Percy, lovely day isn't it dear?" She looked up with a faint, exhausted smile, eyes widening slightly in surprise as she realised that it wasn't her son she was addressing, but me. "Ginny? What in the name of Merlin are you doing up and about at this time? You'll be grumpy and irritable for the rest of the day if I know you as well as I think I do. You really ought to go back to bed dear-"

"Couldn't sleep," I murmured back, pouring myself a glass of milk, "We're running low on this, by the way.

"That along with everything else," she muttered to herself, probably not considering the fact that I was within hearing distance.

I wasn't sure how to broach the subject of the car. I didn't want to get dad into any trouble, and yet I really was very curious. So I very carefully asked: "Mum..? Do you know if Dad's doing any work on the car?"

She looked up, confused at my random question. "No, dear. Well not since yesterday afternoon, I don't think. Complete waste of time if you ask me. Why, were you wondering where he is? He's taken a night shift at work; he'll probably be back in a few hours."

"So if it isn't him, then who's taken it?" I asked, more to myself, confused.

Mum gave me another quizzical glance, so I pointed her in the direction of the window, which usually showed the car perching in the right corner.

"He wouldn't have," she muttered to herself, the famous and unfortunately familiar piercing expression of fury settling in. "Your father knows only too well how dangerous and illegal that car is! Wrote the law himself, loopholes regardless! Is he out of his mind! He wouldn't be so stupid. "

I stayed quiet during this rant, letting her get some steam off, preparing to use the twins trick of jumping in before she _really_ got going.

"Unless… it was them?" Mum questioned, talking to herself. Her face kept all of its current emotion but it accumulated a new expression; wonderment. "They wouldn't have… although it would explain last night?"

Finally my resolve and curiosity got the better of me. "What? Who are you on about? Do you think it was a robber? But, won't magic be able to trace whoever stole it? Dad'll be annoyed with whoever it was- unless it was a Muggle, then he'd probably be asking about different types of burglary and law breaking-"

"Don't be ridiculous Ginny. Did you happen to go in Fred and George's room this morning?" Her voice was so clearly falsely peaceful. Like the calm before a storm.

Then it dawned on me. Of course! Only yesterday morning has they had been saying how if Ron's best friend didn't turn up soon, then they were going to go and get him themselves. It seemed I hadn't dreamt those voices and creaky staircases last night. They had gone to collect Harry.

It was Harry Potter they had been on about. The Boy Who Lived. Ron talks about him quite a lot, along with another girl, Hermowninny or something? Ron complains about her quite a lot, during one of these times I overheard mother whispering to father something about puppy love. Anyway, apparently the three of them are best friends! But, because of the fact of how Harry hasn't replied to a single one of Ron's letters all summer, I wouldn't have believed it, if it wasn't for Percy confirming that the two, and the girl with the funny name, had spent the year practically joined at the hip.

But Ron himself had evidence, he told the Twins and I the full story of what had happened with the whole Philosophers Stone, even the bits he wisely missed out to mum; for it was long ago agreed that it was best for everyone if us kids had a simply need-to-know based relationship with her.

Harry sounds _so_ brave from that story, though. Even mum agreed, and she doesn't know the half of it. I recall her saying 'of course, he's had to be brave, what with all the hardship he's been through,'

Thinking of this makes me feel so sorry for him; just imagine, his parents were murdered, he was the victim of an attempted murder, but instead he had to kill, supposedly to keep himself alive, or at least that's what the Daily Prophet says. A mere baby, forced to murder! And then, he got shipped off to what Ron describes as abusive, yet his only extended family. Also, going slightly off topic, from what I glimpsed of him through the Hogwarts Express window last year, he is very good looking indeed; with those beautiful emerald eyes. Usually you don't really notice somebody's eyes at first, but with Harrys', well; it would be incredibly hard not to notice them. Apparently they're his mothers, but apart from that he's the spitting image of his father, according to mother. Ron shook his head as she said this, and told me that's what everybody who knew of his parents said upon first meeting him.

I shake my head to try and clear my Harry-obsessed thoughts. I knew what had happened, even without checking the beds, and I really didn't want to get my brothers into any more trouble, because if they do, then there goes my hopes at a fun afternoon playing Quidditch. Or maybe mum would be so relieved to see Harry well, that she'd let us all play. Ha, wishful thinking. But wouldn't it be great to play with Harry? Ron said that he's already on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, as a seeker. The youngest in a century! It would also mean that I wouldn't be forced onto the seeker position!

'Ginny!' I scolded myself, 'stop thinking like that! It's plain weird; you've never even met the bloke,'

I tuned my thoughts back to the present, and by the look on mums face, all hopes of Quidditch flew out the window.

"No, the twins' bedroom is on the floor above mine, why would I have?" I reply, thankful it only took me seconds to lull all of this over. "Don't worry though, I'll go and check on them now. Why don't you have another cuppa?"

She looked at me warningly, knowing full well I was going to cover for them. "That's quite all right, I'll do it myself. You finish your Cheery Owls."

I made the wise decision of staying behind, and knew it was right choice not to follow her when I heard her explosion. By the sounds of it, the twins had gone, and she didn't know where. I did. But I couldn't tell her, she'd probably get even more pissed off to have her suspicions confirmed.

Another eruption. It sounds like Ron's gone too. Of course. He'd never let the Twins take all the glory of their little adventure; he'd want in.

She stormed down the stairs, demanding me to tell her where they had gone, but I, being the amazing sister I am, completely denied having any knowledge of their whereabouts.

I know she didn't believe me, and even threatened me with veritaserum before I pointed out that it took six months to brew, which earned me another round of lectures for being cheeky. She then made me spend the next three hours searching the house with her, which was so pointless; does she expect them and the car to be hiding under the staircase or something? But I guess it gave her something to do, because I could tell, beneath her anger, she really was truly worried about them.

I was too, just a little. Not that I'd ever admit it.

It must have been gone ten o'clock when I first noticed the little bright blue speck in the distance, and once I focused on it, I knew what it was. It was gradually growing larger, and I knew the boys were in for it. I managed to usher mum upstairs before she noticed, so as to give them as much time as possible to come up with an alibi, but I guess it just wasn't enough.

We both heard the rather loud bump, signifying that they must have landed. Mum looked at me with what only I, as her daughter, could describe as an evil glint, tinged with relief, before scurrying off downstairs as fast as her short little legs would carry her.

I retreated to my bedroom, not at all eager to see how this unwinded. It's not as if I missed out on anything either, for I heard clear as day everything she had to say as she let out her fumes.

"Car gone! Out of your beds! Not even a note to say where you went!"

And on it went.

I waited patiently in my bedroom for another ten minutes or so, feeling sorry for the boys, yet staying out of the thick of things, until I heard the tell-tale pop of Dads apparition, and couldn't wait any longer. I had to be there when Dad heard of their excursion, he wouldn't be angry, probably intrigued. I heard his monotones as I eagerly pulled on my slippers and dressing gown once again, and I ran down the familiar stairs.

The room was fairly quiet when I entered, the boys all trying to redeem themselves, so as to get a less severe punishment. I noticed Ron occasionally glancing wistfully towards the window in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, but I wasn't naive enough to believe we'd get a chance to play today. Next to Ron was dad, he kept bobbing about in his chair, looking like he could barely contain his excitement at his son's successions, and there was also something else. Eagerness? He kept glancing to the space opposite him, so I followed his gaze.

There, right there, in _my_ usual seat, in _my _kitchen, in _my_ own home, sat the one and only Harry Potter!

I rubbed my eyes, barely able to believe it, when all of the weary eyes suddenly turned towards me. I suddenly became very uncharacteristically self-conscious.

I heard a chuckle coming from the far side of the table and I didn't need to raise my head to tell it was Fred; I could felt everybody's eyes on me, including Harry's. I looked up, into his lush green eyes, and would have been able to lose myself in them if I hadn't caught sight of my reflection. My babyish bunny slippers on, with my pink, patched up, polka dot gown. On top of that, my bright ginger hair was horribly knotty and ruffled from all the tossing and turning last night, my skin was quite dry, and I noticed I was staring, no, gaping at him. To be introduced to _Harry Potter_ for the first time; and I looked a complete feeble state. Oh Merlin.

Another giggle was to be heard, and I felt my ears and cheeks go bright red. As I came round to my realisations, I gave a small shriek of mortification, turned around and fled back up the stairs.

However embarrassed and mortified I was as I jumped onto the bed, burrowing myself in my covers, I couldn't bring myself to regret it. I had seen him smile for the first time, a small nervous one, but nevertheless, it was a smile, and although I'd have thought it impossible, it enhanced his features greatly.

I wanted to wake up every morning to a smile like that, well, perhaps a bit warmer... As my heart swelled at the thought of this, I decided one thing. One goal which nobody, especially not mother, would ruin for me. Either way, I made my decision there and then. Mark my words; I will marry that boy, The Boy Who Lived, Harry freaking Potter.


End file.
